


performing

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Beelzebub Has a Penis (Good Omens), Discorporation (Good Omens), Gabriel Has a Penis (Good Omens), Public Sex, Stabbing, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Wax Play, an unfortunate amount of blood, and then the wax gets torn off and some skin comes with it lol, body discorporates but character lives!!!, gabriel is forced to make an effort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:41:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22507222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Gabriel is captured by the denizens of Hell as a "gift" for their prince. Under the scrutiny of Hell, it's not a gift that Beelzebub can refuse.
Relationships: Beelzebub & Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	performing

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a year since I've written anything (and my first time writing actual, real smut), so please go easy on me!! Things to keep in mind before reading:
> 
> \- Please check the tags! (If there's anything I've missed, please let me know!) Gabriel gets treated super violently and someone discorporates. No permanent death, but definitely a lot in terms of violence and manhandling.
> 
> \- Gabriel and Beelzebub are in a relationship in this one! It's very lowkey and neither of their offices know about it, but they're very much a thing. Unfortunately, Bee can't disobey orders from Hell or act weak in front of the demons, no matter how much they might love Gabriel. That's why Bee doesn't take it easy on Gabriel: better to do the job once than have the rest of Hell unsatisfied and trying to finish it for them.
> 
> And that's about it! Sorry in advance, but I hope you enjoy!

Warmth was the first feeling to greet him. It wasn’t the kind of warmth you’d expect on a flurry of a winter day, peaceful beside the flame of the hearth; it was stinging, sharp, something he quickly found himself struggling against. Each crackle of heat hit him like electricity, and soon enough he couldn’t keep his eyes closed.

The Archangel Gabriel jolted upright – or tried to, miserably, against the binding of infernal chain. The crisscross of damned metal against his skin seared, but not nearly as much as whatever it was that dripped onto him with every passing second. He frantically glanced around, taking in with great horror the array of demons in attendance, before turning his gaze upwards to confront what was bringing him such grief. 

“Sleeping Beauty’s finally awake, eh?” teased Hastur from above. His grin cracked the layer of dead skin on his face, tearing at his dry lips, but he didn’t otherwise seem to mind; he was so much so enjoying the picture of a ruined archangel beneath him. Instead, he dug his claws just a tad deeper into the girth of the candle and tilted it forward, pouring another rush of molten wax onto the angel below. “Can’t have our prince’s gift just nappin’ the whole time. Would be such a waste.” 

Sharp, searing pain lit up his nerves as the wax hit and cooled on his bare chest. (He was naked, he then realized with much dismay.) Even after the substance solidified, the fervor of a thousand suns seeped into his skin and drew tears to his eyes. 

“Foul creature, wh..what are you doing? What _is_ that?” Gabriel wheezed, weaker than he’d normally liked to present himself. It drew a sneer from Hastur.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The candle tilted again, and Gabriel bit down hard on his bottom lip as the agony spread through his whole corporation. “You really are an idiot – it’s just a candle. What, can an Archangel not handle a little candle?”

“ _Obviously_ it’s a candle, why—agh!"

Apparently the whole situation was just a joke to Hastur, because he couldn’t restrain the giddy lilt in his voice. “Why what? Speak up, stupid.” Another tilt, another agonized, restrained frenzy of limbs. “Cheapest and most efficient candle on the market. Lit with only the finest of Hellfire, of course,” he sneered, baring a grin full of yellowed, rotted teeth.

Well, that made sense. He hadn’t ever known pain – not really, at least. Not like this. Fighting in the Holy War wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. A gash from a demonic sword and a splash of ichor was easily healed with Her blessing. An arrow in his wing he’d easily torn asunder and willed closed. That was a time before Hellfire or Holy Water were ever even considered in retaliation. Now, with knowledge gained, Gabriel suffered – truly suffered – for the first time in over six thousand years.

Hastur, all too pleased with himself, tipped the rest of the jar over Gabriel’s quivering form. The molten wax stung so viciously that the angel feared looking down, expecting a gaping, blistering wound in the wake of the liquid. This time, with all the rest of the candle gnawing at his stomach and chest, he bit straight through the soft of his lip and gasped brokenly. He heaved like a fish out of water, too focused on breathing through the pain to register the sound of glass shattering somewhere beneath the table and Ligur leaning in to whisper something. He couldn’t, for the life of him, understand whatever the duke of Hell was saying, and he only acknowledged that said duke was so close until he felt a grimy hand drag across his chest and tear the spattering of cooled wax from it.

He screamed, completely and brokenly, and somehow managed to look down. He couldn’t even see his chest, just blood. _So much blood._ The wax, charged by Hellfire, had melted into his corporation, stuck to him like a parasite, and now it – and a good layer of skin – was gone. The gold liquid rushed from him, pooling quickly under his supine form. 

“Lovely work, Ligur,” cheered Hastur. “How about giving us a little more to decorate?” The demon in question seemed to like that suggestion, because his eyes darkened and he smirked just so.

It should be noted that Gabriel had made an Effort a few times before, but never for very long and never for any _extremely_ distasteful acts. After reverting his corporation back to its standard, he’d always felt a pang of guilt, of disgust. He tried not to sully his body with such an embodiment of lust, but here he was, set before a pack of demons who so insisted he would. Of his own accord, he refused, and Ligur was unfortunately happy enough to help him sort out their little problem. 

The duke’s fingers danced within the celestial fibers holding the corporation together, entangling in something within, and started dragging an Effort out, despite Gabriel’s panting and wheezing. The more he struggled, the more the bindings bit into his skin, and the agony multiplied tenfold, but he couldn’t find it in him to keep still. Ligur kept pulling, eyebrows knit in concentration, and teeth grit and arm shaking with exertion, and it took all that Gabriel had within him to choke the scream clawing through his throat. Finally the tugging stopped, and Ligur traced a finger down the length of the newly minted member to the skin right below it, pushing harshly until his corporation gave way to a hole. In his own time and will, Gabriel found that it didn’t hurt to present an Effort; now, unwilling and unprepared, it all seared like a red hot brand.

It felt like centuries before Ligur finished his handiwork, and the relief at finishing briefly overshadowed the thought of what was to come. 

“Done. How would you like him, Lord Beelzebub?”

The blood in Gabriel’s veins ran cold. There was no way. _Lord Beelzebub? Bee was here? They couldn’t be watching. They couldn’t see this. They can’t._ He desperately craned his neck in attempt to follow wherever Ligur and Hastur were looking, hissing as the chain stung against him viciously, and felt his heart skip several beats at his fear realized. 

They were, surely, there, posted up upon their cast-iron throne and sprawled out lazily. Not in the slightest did they seem put off or uncomfortable, expression stony as always. They surveyed Gabriel with cold eyes – briefly catching his own appalled stare – before responding, “prepare him. Quickly.”

“Our pleasure.”

And someone did prepare him. He couldn’t see who, nor did he want to. He simply felt two sets of hands stretch his cheeks apart, calloused fingers spreading the toned flesh of his ass, and another two digits immediately plunge deep within him. They wasted no time roughly pumping them in and out, despite the apparent lack of lubrication and the dry, jarring drag. As their tough skin and sharp nails dug inside of him, tearing him, scraping the edge of his prostate, stretching him too full, he tried to remember Her grace. Gabriel tried to remember that She would not let him suffer for long and that She would keep him safe, even through this 

He must have been mumbling aloud, somewhat delirious from dread, because someone snorted and Hastur growled, “ _She_ ’s not here, mate. Try again.”

Two fingers turned to three turned to four, and it hurt to even breathe. He looked particularly pathetic, shaking and cowering in front of his enemy, but no matter how much he willed his corporation to calm down, _to stop moving so this would hurt less_ , he couldn’t seem to. The only solace he found was when the thrusts become smoother, wet and tacky with something he refused to believe was blood. Everything still stung, but at least the hot glide wasn’t so jerky and disorienting. 

He was panting, still trying to recite whatever soft prayers he could mentally conjure up, when the fingers retreated and a trickle of viscous warmth slid down his abused hole to the table beneath.

“He’s ready, my lord.” _No. No, no, he’s not ready for this. He could never be ready for this._ He resolved to peeling open his eyes, craning his neck up and forward, and discerning Bee. _His_ Bee. They looked almost hesitant to get up – maybe pensive, maybe bored – but took their time regardless in rising and stalking forward. 

When they finally stopped in front of Gabriel, he was still as could be, save for the involuntary shake of his form. Beelzebub ran their hands over expanses of raw skin and residual flecks of dried wax, letting their fingertips cool slightly to shoot some relief through their captor. He stifled a sigh as the chill worked through the tension in his chest. It wasn’t much, but it was the most they could do in the thrall of so many demons, and Gabriel clung onto it for hope that his prince might take mercy on him.

“Please, just – end it. Discorporate me.”

“Oh, but you mustn’t discorporate, Gabriel.” That was the first time that someone in this forsaken realm had actually referred to him by his given name. He stuttered softly, feeling out for some sort of empathy from the prince – it wasn’t like it would be dangerous for them to truly feel it; it wasn’t like other demons could sense such pure emotions – and instead found nothing. He’d felt their emotions before, swum in the pain, the pride, the passion, but now pounded on a barrier new even to him. He knew them, he _knew _Bee, _his_ Bee.__

____

____

“Not yet,” they murmured into his ear, and he understood the unspoken message of, _Too soon, too suspicious._ So, with a swipe of their hands, muscle knit tightly and sewed the skin of his corporation back together. It wasn’t as gentle as an angel’s doing, but it sealed the flow of ichor and unfortunately halted his return to the safety of Heaven.

“Can’t have you simply bleeding out. Wouldn’t want to disappoint all of Hell with a lackluster performance,” mused Beelzebub, no real bite to their tone. They seemed almost sidetracked, dazed; _performing_ , his mind supplied, a role they’d never wish to act on.

Their eyes locked and some naïve part of the archangel felt momentarily at peace, but the spell broke all too soon when he heard Bee unzip their trousers, still, unfortunately for him, resolved to finish the job.

Apparently their mercy ended as soon as it had come. In their sparse sessions of lovemaking, Beelzebub had never presented as truly well-endowed – which Gabriel still, obviously, found beautiful, as he did all of his lover. Today must’ve been his lucky fucking day, though, because apparently they decided to fabricate something that Gabriel’s reeling mind can only describe as a monster. The dick jumped a bit as Bee brought it out of their pants, disproportionately thick to their small stature and already leaking heavily from the tip. He’d taken Beelzebub inside him before, but the thought of _that_ in him, hitting him too deep and too hard, without any discussion and agreement, made his heart skip a beat.

“No. _No_ End it, please, _please_ – don’t put that in me,” he rasped out, voice hoarser and harsher than he’d ever admit. He meant the words just for his Beelzebub, but he was too distressed to contain his volume.

“You’re so lovely when you beg. It suits you.” One of their hands remained on their dick, pursuing languid strokes to bring it to a state of full hardness, while the other toyed with the seam of their angel’s new asshole. They pushed in a manicured fingertip, testing the give, and pulled away with a trail of golden blood. “A prideful creature reduced to something so pathetic. What would Heaven think of you, if they could see you in this moment? Would they still let you return?”

 _Yes, of course they would_ , he so desperately wished to retort. They... would, wouldn't they? This wasn't his fault. None of this was his fault. If She had any power down here, She would save him. His heavenly brothers and sisters would save him, surely. Surely? He bit his tongue. It didn't matter. Fighting back would do nothing but provoke them – perhaps not Beelzebub, but certainly their demonic onlookers.

“What use is an angel that cannot even save himself?”

He didn’t act on that bait, either, but he was flustered and flushed with the restraint of it. Beelzebub didn’t seem too satisfied with the silence – too used to Gabriel’s quips in their time together, alone – and hummed softly as they finished pumping themselves and guided their dick to Gabriel’s entrance. 

“Please.” It was one last desperate plea that he knew would fall on deaf ears, but he couldn’t stop the appeal as it fell off his tongue. “Please, please, please, _please—hhn_!”

They shoved in without preamble, so fast and deep that even the exhausting preparation he’d received didn’t feel nearly enough. The weight of it all pressed deep within his core, so far that he swore he felt the stretch up to his lungs and something tearing violently. He couldn’t suck in any air; not that his corporation needed it, but there was no room and his whole body was paralyzed in pure pain. Even the scream at the back of his throat caught and dissipated.

There was more blood, he found himself acutely aware, as Beelzebub slid out fully and warmth trailed in their absence. Then he was plugged up again soon enough. The prince slammed in to the hilt again, hard and merciless, and started up a punishing pace that spared Gabriel not even a moment of reprieve. He tried to beg, tried in vain to get it all to stop, but he simply jerked forward against the infernal chains wordlessly with each thrust. There were no pleas, only the harsh breathing of the prince above him and the pleased murmurs of the crowd around them.

When Beelzebub finally moved their hands, it was to encircle one around Gabriel’s own Effort and firmly pin his stomach with the other. They started pumping his dick in time with their thrusts, and Gabriel’s silent spell was broken with a wretched keen. It was far, far too loud, and so unbecoming of an archangel. “St— _op, s_..hhah..”

They angled slightly upwards, then, fingers grazing the prominent bulge of his stomach on each thrust. His skin strained under the pressure and stretch, and Beelzebub seems almost fixated on it. It burned even more, stretching his toned stomach farther than the taut skin should allow, but that didn’t deter the mesmerized demon. They simply pumped their hand faster and thrust harder, until Gabriel’s hips instinctively pressed upwards into the touch. His nerves were lit with such pain, but he chased the shred of pleasure that Beelzebub offered him with broken ignorance. In the agony consuming his stomach, he felt a familiar coil of pleasure. It was sick, he knew, but he welcomed the distraction despite himself. He tensed around the stretch of Beelzebub so wide and far within him, so close to the brink of pleasure. _Yes, yes, yes_ –!

Right before the crest, their hand stilled, squeezing down hard on the base of the angel’s dick and digging their nails tight into the tender skin. All his relief abruptly drained, agony assuming its place.

If he wasn’t crying before – he certainly could have been, but he was far too overwhelmed to take note – he certainly was now. Everything burned and ached, like the Hellfire-heated wax all over again, but _inside_ and a _million times worse_. The coiling heat in his core, stifled, persisted with such fury that he couldn’t help weeping openly. It all hurt so much. It was all too much.

“There we go. Let us hear you.”

The nails dug deeper into his dick, drawing blood in tiny beads, and he positively howled. 

That must’ve been ever-so enrapturing to the prince, because Beelzebub sped up, to his chagrin. The thrusts became more and more erratic; they hit harder and somehow deeper, sloppy with ferocity. Their hand completely abandoned its torture of Gabriel’s Effort, instead grasping desperately for his hips and tugging him down to meet every sharp movement. Finally they stilled, skin flush against Gabriel’s, and he felt fuller than before as his raw insides were flooded with cum. Beelzebub whined softly, a muted cry of ecstasy that might’ve been Gabriel’s name. He didn’t want to think about that possibility, or the almost-certain probability of it being true.

Everything torn stung with the touch of demonic essence, and the burn only multiplied as Beelzebub filled him so much that he worried it would simply dribble out of his mouth. They let this sink in and settle, gently panting and studying Gabriel’s expression, before pulling out completely. It was an ugly squelch and then a rush of semen over the thick of his ass and off the edge of the table, but Gabriel was too overwhelmed to do more than merely wince at the sudden emptiness. His gaping hole clenched involuntarily around the air, and he hated it. He hated all of this, this whole situation.

But he didn’t hate his prince. He didn’t think he ever could. Not even after this. 

Gabriel remembered the demon’s love, and it came rushing back to him as Beelzebub ran a gentle, slender hand along the rise and fall of his chest. It trailed softly to the end of his sternum. Those nimble fingers played along the edge of it, smoothing further down, as if mapping a path along his skin. It was such a stark contrast to the assault he endured only a minute ago, but it was the same genuine Bee that he had come to know and love; the same Bee that was simply a servant of Hell, as much as Gabriel was a servant of Heaven, and could not disobey, even to spare the safety of their lover.

Then, with a lift of Beelzebub’s hand and a sharp snap, Gabriel was drawn from his musings to notice two things: one, that they had miracled forth an unholy sword; and two, that they had driven said sword straight through his heaving stomach and up into a lung. It seared nearly as much as the wax did, nearly as much as the fucking did, before the sword was twisted through tender muscle and harshly jerked out, and his lungs had become a negative space. He was gasping, suddenly, as all the air in the room wasn’t enough to stay in the confines of his corporation.

One of those deceivingly-tender hands cupped his face and swiped a thumb over his fresh tears. Through the haze of pain, he forced himself to look up at Beelzebub, to look at the one person he thought might offer him solace in this moment. The second their eyes locked, he felt the crisp puncture and burn of the sword once more within him. This time, he coughed up a fine spray of ichor that dusted Beelzebub like blush. If they were bothered, they didn’t show it; they didn’t show anything. They simply leaned down, one hand on Gabriel’s cheek and the other still charged to the sword, and dismissed him in a hush.

“Rest now, my angel. You’ve done well.”

And finally, _finally_ , he found the tendrils of sleep stealing away at his consciousness and corporation, and he allowed himself to plunge back into the light. After what could’ve been a few moments or a few decades, he did.

Eventually, he awoke in the familiar halls of Heaven, and, for longer than he would have liked to admit, he wondered why he’d been allowed back in.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you enjoyed, please leave a kudos and/or a comment to absolutely make my day!


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